


Red herrings

by stjarna



Series: Season 4 - Coda Challenge [25]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: All mistakes are my own, Framework, Gen, Possible Spoilers, Red Herring - Freeform, SOMEONE STOP ME!!!!!!, Spoilers, aos speculation, possible spoilers based on promo materials, spec fic, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 21:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10500117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: What if... everything Framework related that we've seen so far at the end of 4x15 and in promo materials is a string of red herrings?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone ask me to write another Framework fic? No. Did I do it anyways? Yes. Am I insane? Most likely.

Burnell keeps his head low as he’s walking back home, his backpack slumped over one shoulder. He’s holding on to the strap with one hand, keeping his other in his pocket.

He can’t wait to get home.

School’d been. Well. It _sucked_.

And yeah, he was a teenager and school was supposed to suck, but for him… for him it felt even worse.

History had been almost unbearable. Final class of the day. Coulson’s constant tirades against Inhumans and the Inhuman plague, reminders of the dangers of associating with such filth.

Burnell’s ready to take a shower and try to wash away the pain he’d suffered inside.

It’s getting so hard to hide it. That he’s one of them, one of those Inhumans.

Not voluntarily of course. It had just happened.

One day that damn cocoon had built around him after he’d eaten a fish taco. Had been one of his favorite foods. Now he can’t even stand the smell.

At least he’d been lucky. He still looks the same and his powers seem easy enough to control… most of the time at least.

He doesn’t have green scales, or red eyes, or tentacles like some of the ones he’d seen dragged into the streets on TV, or shown in court during the evening news.

At least he can hide it. But there’s the fear; the constant fear that someone would notice and rat him out.

_Then what?_

Absentmindedly, Burnell kicks a stone down the sidewalk when a car pulls up besides him. He looks up and freezes mid-step.

There it is: the bright red corvette and sitting behind the wheel, Burnell’s history teacher, Mr. Coulson.

Mr. Coulson is smiling but the sheer memory of his anti-Inhuman speeches earlier today lets Burnell shudder at the fake friendliness.

“Can I give you a ride, Burnell?” Mr. Coulson asks, lowering his aviator sunglasses.

Burnell looks nervously left and right. He tries to remind himself that he needs to keep his cool. There’s no way Mr. Coulson knows.

Burnell’d never used his powers at school, not on purpose, not even by accident.

It’s probably just a teacher’s feeble attempt to seem more hip, more approachable, more likable to his students.

But it’s weird nonetheless.

“Whaddya say, Burnell? Let me give you a lift!”

Burnell swallows. “Is that legal? Teacher driving a student home?”

Coulson lets out a single quiet laugh. “As long as you don’t rat me out, I won’t get in trouble.”

Burnell takes a deep breath and nervously opens the door to the car, sitting down next to Mr. Coulson. He puts his backpack on his lap, hugging it tightly.

“Don’t forget to buckle up!”

Burnell forces a smile and quickly fumbles for the seatbelt. “Right. Yes. Sorry, Mr. Coulson.”

They drive through the neighborhood, Mr. Coulson trying to make boring small talk, Burnell replying politely while his heart is beating anxiously in his chest.

Finally, they get to Burnell’s house.

Mr. Coulson stops and Burnell opens the door, getting out as quickly as he can.

“Thanks, Mr. Coulson,” he says and turns around to head to the safety of his home.

“Burnell!”

Once again, Burnell freezes. He slowly turns around. “Yes, Mr. Coulson?”

His teacher is stretching out one hand, holding a business card between his index and middle finger.

Burnell squints his eyes and hesitantly takes the card from Coulson. He looks at it and reads the name aloud. “Alphonso Mackenzie – The Auto Man?”

Confused, Burnell looks back at his teacher, who’s gesturing with his still stretched out hand as well as his head at the card.

“Mack’s a good guy. He takes care of my Lola here.” Mr. Coulson affectionately places his hand on his car’s dashboard. “And I don’t let just anyone look under her hood.”

Burnell shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s getting more difficult to hide, isn’t it?”

Burnell feels his heart beat even faster, the rhythmic drumming in his chest getting almost too much to bear.

“Mack can help you. If you ever don’t know where to go, if you ever feel like they’re on to you: Go to Mack. You can trust him.”

Burnell stares at his history teacher wide-eyed, his mouth gaping ajar.

Coulson lowers his sunglasses. “Don’t listen to the news, Burnell. They might be trying to tell you that what happened to you is wrong and unnatural, that you’re some kind of freak, that you and your kind must be stopped, but they’re just scared of what they don’t know. You’re different. That’s it. That’s not a bad thing. There are plenty of people who think that way. And just because we’re hiding in the shadows, doesn’t mean we’re not there. It doesn’t mean we don’t care. We’re there and we’ll help.”

Coulson nods and drives off. Burnell’s eyes follow the red Corvette, before his eyes glance back at the business card.

* * *

* * *

 

The door to his penthouse closes behind him, and for a moment, Leo stops, enjoying the silence around him. He takes off his jacket and vest and tosses both over the white leather couch, before loosening his tie, groaning quietly.

It had been a long day. Meetings with Agent May, Hydra’s Head of Security. And of course that smug hacker agent had shown up out of the blue right as Leo was showing May the new design for the Centipede soldiers.

Skye. That was her name. Something untrustworthy about her. Leo could never quite pinpoint it.

And she’d seemed particularly nosy and skeptical today, doubting every aspect of the design, trying to undermine his arguments in front of May. Eventually, Leo had snapped and made it clear to Skye who _he_ was and who _she_ wasn’t, namely Hydra’s top tech advisor and tech supplier, the best the agency had ever had or would ever have.

Leo walks over to the cocktail cart and pours himself a drink. He takes a sip from the golden liquid, savoring the pleasant burning sensation the Scotch leaves as he swallows.

“Aida!” Leo exclaims loudly.

“Yes, Mr. Fitz,” the computerized female voice replies over the comm system.

“Get P.C. on the line for me, please.”

“Of course, Mr. Fitz.”

There’s a moment of static silence, followed by an enthusiastic reply. “Leo! How’s my favorite engineer doing?”

Leo scoffs. “Fine. Work sucks as usual. You should tell your wife to ease up on me once in a while.”

“As if I had that kind of power.”

Leo laughs out loud. He takes another sip from his drink. “Just wanted to check in. How’d The Patriot like his new suit?”

“Loved it. Fits him like a glove. Wish I could wear something snazzy like that. Tweed’s kinda itchy.”

“Yeah, you’ll have to find someone else to help you with your fashion problems. I’m an engineer, not a tailor, Phil.”

The man on the other line chuckles briefly. “Well, alright, Leo, I’m on my way to H.Q. Apparently someone brought us a little present. Managed to capture one of Hydra’s top agents. Don’t tell my wife.”

Leo raises his eyebrows. “You mean, someone captured a Hydra agent and your wife had nothing to do with it? Wonders of wonders! Miracles of miracles!”

“I’ll tell her you said that.”

“Please don’t. The woman still scares me.”

“Try being married to her.”

Leo laughs out loud.

“Alright, Leo, take care.”

“You too, Phil.”

* * *

* * *

Jemma’s eyes wander nervously around the interrogation cell. She glances in Daisy’s direction, who’s sitting next to her, her hands cuffed to the table.

It had been Daisy’s idea. Once they’d heard of The Resistance, they’d known that maybe the anti-Hydra organization would be able to provide the help they needed to get out of this virtual, distorted hell.

Jemma’s avatar seemed to have certain connections to the underground group that resembled S.H.I.E.L.D. in many ways. Daisy suggested that bringing The Resistance a present in the form of a top Hydra agent might be the ticket they needed to give them an audience with the leader, The Patriot, aka Jeffrey Mace.

Daisy’d been right, but Jemma still feels incredibly uneasy stuck in the small room in an underground base, two guards by the door looking sternly in Daisy’s direction.

Mace walks into the room in full Patriot gear. The suit looks identical to the one Fitz designed for Mace in the real world and for a moment, Jemma wonders how that’s possible. Radcliffe must have used the same specs when he programmed the Framework, pulled from Fitz’s or Mace’s mind.

“Jemma,” Mace addresses her and stretches out his hand. Hesitantly, Jemma accepts his handshake. “I don’t think our paths have ever crossed before, Jemma, but I’ve heard of the wonderful work you’ve done for The Resistance in the past! And this—” He gestures at Daisy. “—almost feels like Christmas and my birthday rolled into one.”

Jemma forces a shy smile.

“Certainly makes you well worthy of meeting the leader of our little resistance,” Mace adds, grinning smugly.

Jemma shakes her head in confusion, and she notices Daisy’s head shoot up in surprise as well.

“I thought you’re the leader?” Jemma asks.

Mace lets out a single laugh. “Well, I’m the public face, you could say.” Triumphantly he raises one fist in front of his chest. “The man of _action_!” He pauses. “But the leader… well, he’s—”

“Me!” a familiar voice exclaims, and Jemma’s jaw drops to the floor when Coulson walks through the door, wearing a plaid long-sleeved shirt and khaki slacks.

“Sorry,” Coulson says, rubbing his hands and stepping closer to the table, extending his hand to shake Jemma’s. “—that corner was really dark, and I couldn’t help myself.”

He turns to Mace and gestures over his shoulder with his thumb. “I think there’s a bulb out.”

* * *

* * *

Phil’s standing by the stove, his sleeves rolled up. He adds a pinch of oregano to the sauce simmering in the pot when he hears the front door open.

“Honey, I’m home,” his wife announces theatrically.

Phil wipes his hands off on the dishtowel draped over his shoulder and walks up to his wife.

He wraps his arms around her waist and places a gentle peck to her lips. “One of our resistance fighters, Jemma Simmons, brought us your hacker agent as a little present today.”

Melinda scoffs. “Skye? Good. She stormed into my meeting with Leo today just as we were about to discuss how to best stop Hydra’s Centipede program. She and her nazi-boyfriend are so goddamn nosy, makes it hard to do my job sometimes.”

Phil grins smugly. “Well, do _I_ have a surprise for you, my dear, ‘cause you won’t _believe_ the things she told us.”

**Author's Note:**

> If just ONE of these spec stories becomes canon, I'll be a happy camper!


End file.
